


Another Year Older: or the Importance of Age

by Elasmosaurus



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Academy Era, Angst, Birthday, Birthday Presents, Everyone wants the professor, Except Jeralt he's great, Fire emblem dads are the worst, M/M, Pining, Pre-Time Skip, Sparring, Sylvain and Yuri and Claude make Bylad miserable, background pre-relationship Ferdibert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:42:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26757466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elasmosaurus/pseuds/Elasmosaurus
Summary: This day was already insufferable. His birthday falling on a rest day made it anything but. Byleth didn't mind early starts, he quite enjoyed the peace of the monastery in the early morning, but a lifetime as a mercenary had instilled in him a hatred of being surprised and being the centre of attention. So Claude and the deer's ill-thought out birthday wake up had nearly ended in him killing the next leader of the Alliance.On his birthday, Byleth just wants to have a quiet, relaxed day to himself before a cursed evening out with Sylvain he agreed to earlier in the month. Being everyone's favourite professor means there is no chance of that happening, and his day is so busy he doesn't even have time to spar with Felix to blow off some steam.aka: Boyleth Birthday Shenanigans
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/My Unit | Byleth, Yuris Leclair | Yuri Leclerc/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 17
Kudos: 31





	1. Dawn with the Fawns

**Author's Note:**

> So this fic is about teacher Byleth getting all of the attention from the students and also having _feelings_ for one of them. How appropriate this is / isn't due to age gap and responsibilities is sort of touched on in the fic, but if you have issues with teacher Byleth and Academy era students this might not be for you.  
> Also I HC that Byleth and Yuri were FWB when Byleth was a mercenary, before the academy days so that's a thing.

This day was already insufferable. His birthday falling on a rest day made it anything but. Byleth didn't mind early starts, he quite enjoyed the peace of the monastery in the early morning, but a lifetime as a mercenary had instilled in him a hatred of being surprised and being the centre of attention. So Claude and the deer's ill-thought out birthday wake up had nearly ended in him killing the next leader of the Alliance.

The telltale scratches of pins picking his lock had roused Byleth from sleep. The picker was obviously talented and it was only his trained ears that gave him warning to expect company. Instinctively, Byleth reaches for the dagger under his pillow and feigns sleep to catch his would-be attacker off guard. Next to him, the bed moves, but his attention is on the door. The quiet click of a turning lock and door handle is accompanied by a set of soft padding footsteps approaching his bed. More entered the room but thankfully shuffled around by the door, possibly trying to get into an order. 10 steps was the distance from the door to the bed, and an assailant would be in reach by eight. Byleth tightens his grip at seven and strikes, bolting upright to bring the dagger up to a jugular. Fortunately, the black and yellow figure trips over where he left the sword of the creator perched against his nightstand and goes sprawling, somehow recovering it into a graceful bow. Byleth scowls as the house leader of the Golden Deer shoots him a mischievous grin that for once sparkles in his emerald eyes. Then a mop of silver hair, also with green eyes, pops out behind Claude and shoots him a sheepish and apologetic half smile. Ashe slips a book onto the table and backs out silently.

"Morning, Teach. I have to admit I'm a little sad that was a dagger and not that you were just happy to see me."

Byleth fixes Claude with a blank stare that is rudely interrupted by him jumping onto his bed, closely followed by Hilda, as the Deer bursts into a terribly out of tune rendition of happy birthday. As annoyed as he was, the loveable band of ragtag misfits brought a small smile to his face. He sheaths the dagger, returning it to the nightstand and sits up.

“These are from all of us, Professor.” Marianne places the vase bursting with sunflowers on his desk, meeting his eyes as she talks. A warm feeling spreads in his chest at this seemingly small gesture that is, for the demure daughter of Margrave Edmund, a massive achievement. He allows a larger smile to tug at the corners of his mouth and dips his head in response.

Lorenz is next, stepping forward. He produces a rose from up his sleeve with a flourish to add to the vase “for one as distinguished as yourself must get an individual present from House Gloucester.” Rolling his eyes would be considered a political faux pas, so Byleth succeeds in not reacting to the overbearing noble. Instead, he shoos the Deer out with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“The professor is right, we should let him get dressed. By the way, I woke everyone up for this, which was a lot of work, so don’t expect anything else from me Professor!” Hilda wiggles her eyebrows at Claude and leaves her position on the bed to stride out into the corridor. The house leader ushers the rest of the students out and starts to close the door whilst on the wrong side of them. Byleth raises an eyebrow at him.

“Awww c’mon Teach, as it’s your birthday I thought I’d treat you by helping you dress.”

“That sounds more like a birthday treat for you, Claude.” Once the words are out of his mouth, he can hear how suggestive they are. Fuck.

“Well, if you insist, Teach, you know how I like to indulge...” Claude winks with a devilish smile, flashing his pearly canines as he closes the gap between them.

“Out, Reigan. I mean it.”

“You’re breaking my heart Teach. All this blowing hot and cold, my poor young heart can’t take it!” The words are for show, because he does leave the room, shutting the doors behind him with a pout. Byleth sighs, and hears a quiet chuckle from under the bed.

“Always so popular, my friend.”

“Be discreet when you leave, Mockingbird. After that, I need to avoid Seteth from now until Saint Cichol’s day.”

“When am I not?” Sharp lavender eyes peered out of the shadows to meet his. Yuri had a point. None of the deer had noticed him.

It’s Byleth’s turn to chuckle, pulling on a loose fitting shirt and tall boots over tight riding trousers. He gives Yuri a nod goodbye as he exits the room. With the earlier-than-planned start, he might be able to substitute his later tea time with Ferdinand for a hack now to free up an hour or so at lunch...A light sensation blooms in his chest that he stuffs down straight away. Even if he frees up some time, Felix will probably be too busy to spar anyway.

* * *

Ferdinand von Aegir believes in his responsibilities as a noble. Ludwig ensured they were ingrained in him as a boy, and that he knew the consequences of failure. This made the boy a creature of habit and routine. At this time, he would be in the stables grooming Rocinante ahead of their morning ride. Demands of his students and teaching have kept Byleth away from Amaymon for too long and he hastens his silent steps at the prospect of his trusty steed between his legs and the wind in his hair.

Ferdinand’s face is pressed into that of his flaxen chestnut mares, eyes closed and voice soft as he strokes her neck. Byleth has caught a private moment between horse and rider in the stable yard.

“I think we shall practise some battle maneuvers this morning my dear. You are so good to me, RoRo. You are always here for me, you never ridicule me. I listen to them, strive to better myself by taking on board what they say and it is never enough. They think I do not hear what they say when I am out of earshot, but it makes its way back to me. They think me pretentious. An overbearing fool. They dismiss what I say without hearing it. They do not listen to me, do not understand me, RoRo. You listen. You understand. You are there for me always. I cherish you, my only friend.”

Byleth hears his voice break on the last word and steps heavily towards Amaymon’s stall, allowing the noise to alert Ferdinand of his arrival. He hopes the boy won’t know he heard him, or his noble proclivities will dictate Ferdinand pretend he didn’t regardless.

"Professor! Good to see you. I must wish you felicitous celebrations on this, the day of your birth!"

Byleth nods his acknowledgement and continues to Amaymon, reaching out a hand to tickle the muzzle of his black Friesian stallion. Amy’s stall smells of fresh straw and sugarbeet, his coat immaculately clean. The man looks back at his student, early morning sunlight giving his ginger hair a radiant glow. His expectant gaze is soon met with an explanation.

“You so rarely make it down here, Professor. I believed it my duty as a noble and fellow equestrian to show your magnificent mount the due care he deserves! The grooms are perfectly capable but an exquisite specimen like Amy needs to be properly challenged.”

He nods, a little overwhelmed by the obvious care Ferdinand has put in without any chance at recognition for his efforts. A genuine affection for the self important Eagle makes Byleth say “Ride out with me, friend” before he even knows the words are leaving his mouth.

Ferdinand stiffens at the last word. Byleth looks at him, eyebrows furrowed, and sees open adoration in the beaming smile on the boy’s face. It’s clear how much the word means to him. Satisfied all traces of the earlier sadness are gone, he places the blanket and saddle on Amy. The kit feels heavier than it should, muscles out of practice. Byleth resolves to rise early for more pre-breakfast rides.

He pulls Amy’s mane out the browband of the bridle and places a soft kiss on his forehead before smoothing the hair back down. Rocinante playfully nips at Ferdinand as he tightens her girth and pushes her away.

“Cease and desist, girl. Come, I know you are anxious to be off, let me finish so we can away.”

The words work, and both horses are ready to go. Ferdinand starts towards the mounting block but Byleth reaches out a hand to stop him.

“Weight my saddle?”

“You intend to mount all 17 hands from the floor? Amaymon is as big as you!” He sounds shocked but complies, holding down the other stirrup as Byleth completes a feat of contortion that has his knee by his chin to get his boot in place to mount. It’s good practice for how Yuri likes to fold him in half when on top. Byleth bounces once, using the momentum to jump and swings his leg over to rest comfortably in the saddle.

“I fear I cannot match you on this show of skill Professor. I must use aids,” Ferdinand says, face a little crestfallen as he leads Rocinante to the mounting block.

“von Aegir, you KNOW it’s better for Rocinante’s back for you to use an aid.” A sharp look drives the point home and erases any traces of being bested or baseless competition from the boy’s mind.

They barely make it out of the stables before Amaymon starts bucking Byleth. He sits deep in the saddle, pivoting his weight to remain balanced, and lets out a quiet laugh.

“I’m sorry Amaymon. I know I’ve been neglecting you.”

How Amy makes the snort given in response sound derisive he’ll never know. He rears in response, but Byleth is used to Amy's spirited antics and won’t be so easily unseated. After three tumultuous minutes he relents and sets off in an unusually bouncy trot. Byleth can feel the power of the horse beneath him, daring him to show a weakness Amy can capitalise on to punish him for the lack of attention. He wouldn’t have it any other way.

Another set of hooves echo behind them. Rocinante puts on a burst of speed to catch up. When the horses are more or less abreast, their riders ease them down into a brisk walk. Ferdinand fills the silence left by the quieter man by talking about himself, Edelgard and how to best her. Byleth half listens, nodding and shaking his head where necessary, lost in thought about what he’d like to do to Ludwig if he ever got the chance. Ferdinand’s inflated ego, desperation for positive attention and inability to be content in his own abilities were clearly rooted in mistreatment at his father’s hand. But soon, Ferdinand is on to what he doesn’t realise is his favourite topic: Hubert von Vestra.

“Professor, I must implore you. Please, do not put me on more chores with Hubert. Should you choose to, we will both do what we have to, but he is no help at all.”

“You could do better if you were both more willing to compromise, Ferdinand.”

Ferdinand shoots him a pained look. “You sound just like him, Professor. We are both stubborn for foolish reasons, it is true, but I simply cannot stand that tall, dark assassin. He’s so mysterious, always lurking in the shadows behind Edelgard. It is a wonder the so-called spy is so good at it with his pale marble skin, _I_ spot him everywhere. It is quite disturbing to see those peridot eyes gleam behind that soft curtain of greasy black hair. Although, it does have a green sheen when the sun hits it at the perfect angle. And he always smells rich, of that awful bitter beverage he so enjoys...” 

Byleth groaned internally, drowning out the rest of his oblivious obsessions. How did Ferdinand not hear it? He rolled his eyes when Ferdinand wasn’t looking. It felt good after denying such petulance earlier. Byleth only insisted they keep working together because the boys refused to admit how attracted they were to each other and the tension was torture for anyone unfortunate enough to be around them. He was sure that eventually, the chemistry would get too much, they’d have it out and the air would clear between them, making life infinitely more tolerable for everyone else. It was just his job to try and make eventually happen sooner rather than later for sanity's sake. He wasn't paying attention and time passed so quickly on horseback. The sun was high enough in the sky now, breakfast must be being served. He sighed and urged Amaymon into a canter back to the monastery. Rocinante needed no such encouragement, herd instinct kicking in to follow them.

It wasn't a race, but he slowed Amy as they approached the stables to allow Ferdinand to win, and his student's resulting smile was more than worth it. It also helped ease his guilt about what would come next. Horses safely back in the stables after their ride, striding in step towards the dining room, Byleth thought about how to broach getting out of their lunchtime tea arrangements.

“About tea later...”

Ferdinand’s eyes lit up. “I am so looking forward to it, Professor! I have the perfect blend picked out, it will be the best tea you have today. The pastry selection is far superior than any Edelgard would procure, I am certain!” He talks animatedly, clasping his hands together at the end. Byleth can’t bring himself to shatter the happiness on his face, so tries a different tactic to free his lunchtime.

“A bold statement, but it sounds delicious. I’m not sure I can wait until later to try it.” He’s set the bait, cast the line, now to see if Ferdinand will bite.

He does, pressing the palm of his hand into his forehead as he suggests the pastries and tea for breakfast as if it was his own idea. Byleth can only hope the other students will be so amenable to his attempts to make the rest of the day go as he wants it to.

* * *

He has mixed levels of success. The house leaders are lying in wait outside his now empty room after he’s cleaned up from his ride and breakfast tea with Ferdinand. Each presents him with a gift - Claude a bracelet, Edelgard a pendant and Dimitri a brooch - and a letter of gratitude. Edelgard is the quickest to ~~demand~~ request his presence at lunch. Claude walks away disappointed (thank Seiros) and Dimitri smiles knowingly.

The time until lunch is spent being showered with gifts and deprived of a moment to himself. Leonie gives him a new bottle of blade oil and Dedue entrusts him with a cutting from a plant he’d never seen before whilst he tries to plant seeds in the greenhouse, hoping for the exhaustingly rare Zanado treasure fruit to go with the Goddess Messenger he’d caught recently for a special meal to share with the students. Outside, Raphael shoves a bag of training rocks into his hands, which he’ll definitely give back to the brawler in a week by passing it off as a lost item.

When he tries to find a minute under a tree to read the book Ashe left him (the knightly protagonist reminds him of a certain sullen swordsman too), Ignatz presents him with a stunning landscape of the sun setting over Garreg Mach monastery. The painting is truly spectacular and, after assuring the artist that spending time on his passion is important and he won’t be punished for not training morning, noon and night whilst completing the piece, gets put above his desk. Petra comments on it from his open doorway when gifting him some fish she smoked herself. Annette and Mercedes appear as she leaves, handing him a basket of tasty baked treats. The concerned frown on his face must have shown on his usually stoic face, because Annette piped up quickly.

“I promise I stayed out of the kitchen! It’s all in one piece. And I picked out the basket and wrapped the pink ribbon around the handle. I was going to do you a song for your birthday but Dorothea already said she was going to do that.” Her eyes open wide in shock as she covers her mouth guiltily.

“Oh Annie, that was supposed to be a surprise,” Mercedes chides her smaller friend with a smile.

“I suck at keeping secrets, sorry!” The girls wave goodbye and skip off arm in arm as the eleventh bell rings, and another commitment demands his time.


	2. Midday Miasma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FE dads suck (but Byleth gets to serve some comeuppance), Seteth catches up with Byleth, lunch with the Eagles goes as well as you'd expect, Claude continues to be a huge flirt and Byleth tries to find time for that spar with the handsome Fraldarius. Or maybe he doesn't. Angst is served to the side.

Despite being unable to find their own last week, resulting in him going on a wild goose chase of exchanging items with half the population of the monastery in order to acquire one, Catherine and Shamir prevent him from getting to Bernie’s room unaccosted by both gifting him a whetstone. Thankfully, their resultant bickering ensures they are more focused on the other than him. He slinks away quickly, darting around the knights to where Lysithea waits ahead outside Bernadetta’s room with a cake covered in cream and fruits.

When he knocks on the door, he hears a terrified shriek from the anxious girl but she cracks it open enough for them to pass her a slice. He sits on the floor, back leaning against the doorframe. Lysithea hesitates, nose crinkled in disgust, but joins him. The three of them sit there, Bernie safely hidden behind the door, chatting away about everything and nothing. The girls carry most of the conversation on sewing and cake, allowing Byleth’s mind to wander again. He thinks of his own father, and how grateful he is to have someone who allows him to be himself. The familiar simmer rises in his blood, his crest threatening to flare, at the idea of how badly mistreated his students have been by their fathers. von Varley’s abuse of his daughter to make her the perfect wife to the point where she can’t leave a room. Galatea’s insistence Ingrid had to be a wife, and bear crest babies, to restore their family’s fortune, ignoring the woman’s own wants and needs. Gautier for fucking up both his sons, and pitting them against each other, over a crest of all things. Fraldarius for glorifying the death of his eldest son and messing up his living one in the process. Byleth’s anger stops him from dwelling on why he’s  _ really _ annoyed at Rodrigue, more so than the others. von Aegir for all the reasons he’d already pondered this morning. Baron Bartel for abandoning Mercedes and her mother as soon as he had his own crested heir. Gilbert for doing the same to his wife and child, plus continuing to run from them. Caring more about a promise to a dead king than to his live family. Dastard. Gloucester for putting his political position before his son, risking his life just to further the family name. Arnault for abandoning his daughter to hit on her years later when she’d overcome the difficult situation he himself had put her in. That really made Byleth’s skin crawl. Ionius for resigning himself to his fate and not doing more to help his daughter. His jaw sets, and he contemplates reaching out to Hubert for assistance on how to assassinate them all. But Lysithea is looking at him, expecting an answer to a question he hasn’t heard, when he’s saved by Seteth of all people.

“Professor, it is good to see you. I hope you have a most joyous day. My sister has something she wishes to give to you.” Seteth gestures to Flayn, who produces herring bait and a new fishing rod.

"Please bring me your catch. I have a craving for fish and would very much enjoy your presence for a meal. Food tastes best when it is a company of three or more at the table."

Seteth's face pinches into a hurt frown, but he indicates for Byleth to follow him.

"Thanks for the cake Lysithea. Bye, Bernie," he passes the white haired girl his empty plate and fork as she passes Flayn a slice of cake, rising to join Seteth in the secluded archway he waits in. He's curious to know what he wants.

"I am aware of your indiscretion last night, and of this morning's antics."

Well _fuck_. He'd hit Riegan if it wasn't vastly inappropriate and, more importantly, if he wasn't so certain the smarmy schemer would enjoy it. Thankfully, his face was blank of the inner turmoil in his mind.

"We agreed that your... _ trysts _ ...with the Abyssian would be tolerated provided they remained out of student knowledge. I spotted him leaving your room, where anyone could have seen it. I will put an end to this if you cannot conceal your rendezvous better.”

Oh.  _ Oh. _ This was about Yuri, not Riegan, or anyone else. Not the wicked sharp tongue he imagined teasing up his neck, down his chest, on his - nope. Byleth pushed all thoughts of him out of his head before he blushed. He spotted Manuela talking to Alois out of the corner of his eye. Perfect. He said a silent apology to her in his head.

"Do you say the same to Manuela? Students have had to carry her back to her room on numerous occasions. She's always flirting with them. And the way she looks at -”

“Enough, Byleth. I have said my piece to you both. It is inappropriate for you to consort with the students.”

That pissed him off.

“Yuri’s not a proper student, you and the church saw to that. Banished him and the others down in that hellhole he made a home even as you use him to further your interests.” He injects every ounce of venom he can into the words, eyes boiling in rage at his friend’s predicament. A snarl pulls at his upper lip.

“He is a student of the academy nonetheless.” Seteth holds up a hand to cut off Byleth’s inevitable protest. “I know he was a peer during your time as a mercenary, it is why we agreed to this...arrangement in the first place, but you must uphold your end. It is also inappropriate for your students to know of your dalliances.”

“We’re the same age.” It’s the line Yuri has told him countless times since he admitted to his friend the feelings he tried so hard to deny to himself. He hadn’t meant to, the words had come tumbling out as he played with lavender hair he wished was black, holding the man in his arms as their panting breaths calmed. He trusted his friend with his life but he was no fool. It was dangerous for someone like the Mockingbird to know too many of your secrets. _It’s 2, 3 years._ _No one would bat an eye if he was with me, and we’re the same age, friend_.

Seteth has the audacity to fucking chuckle. “Byleth, if you wish to attempt to tame Gautier - for he is also your age or thereabouts - be my guest. Or, if he is more your type, please just ensure I am in attendance when you ask Hubert for a date, and that a healer is present. You might also want a food tester for the remainder of the year.”

Byleth scowled. He wasn’t scared of Hubert. What it would do to  _ Ferdinand _ , however, concerned him more. The light hearted note appeared to end the conversation as Seteth returned to his sister’s side to eat the berries she pushed to the side of her plate.

* * *

Surprisingly, Alois spotted him before Manuela. The knight pressed a book full of awful jokes he’d written himself into his hands with a pun he smiled weakly at and Manuela pulled him into a 'birthday hug' before he could protest.

“You’re awfully tense, Professor. You should come round mine this evening, I’m sure I can work some healing magic or dexterous fingers on sore muscles,” Manuela’s voice was sultry and suggestive.

Jeralt clamped a hand on Manuela’s shoulder. Relief flooded through him. He’d never been happier to see his father.

“Leave the boy alone, Manuela. You’re old enough to be his mother. Older, even.”

“How dare you?!” the woman sputters, rounding on him. “I am only - You are no spring chicken yourself!”

Byleth took the opening to duck out from the developing argument, mouthing a “thank you” at Jeralt, and beelined towards where the Black Eagles minus Bernadetta were congregating to wait for him. Edelgard beams beautifically at him, clearly as smitten as Claude but thankfully much less forward about it.

“My teacher, thank you for joining us. Before we lunch, I believe Dorothea and Constance have a performance for you.”

Because he hasn’t been the centre of attention enough today, Dorothea bursts into a beautiful aria about his accomplishments since arriving at the monastery that Constance accompanies with an impressive display of conjuring magic to illustrate the scenes. Almost everyone stops in the courtyard to listen.

Golden sparks fly from Constance’s hands, taking the form of a deer sprinting away. A spectral blue lion roars to life, giving chase as a real black eagle swoops down to land by the spark deer. Smoke enemies surround them until a flash of red, emanating the crest energy of the relic he is now known for, dissipates it. He watches, enraptured at the skill of House Nuvelle’s youngest mage. A waft of cloves, blade oil and burning pine wood strides purposefully behind him. Byleth’s head turns reflexively but he somehow keeps his eyes trained forwards on the single smoke demonic beast with relic red eyes he and his students are striking at. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Sylvain’s fake smile spread to hide the wetness of his eyes. Felix does pause in the entranceway to the building, barely in Byleth’s eyesight. And everyone else’s, which he supposes is the point, as Felix openly gawks at Dorothea. 

He tried not to let Felix’s staring upset him. Seteth was getting worked up over nothing. The real object of his affections, Felix Hugo Fraldarius, didn’t even like men. So his stupid lectures were a non-issue. 

As the final trilling note echoes through the grounds, the awe on Felix’s face is gone and he scowls into the dining room. Byleth reaches for the pride he feels for his students to bring a smile to his face when he feels like doing anything but. Felix likes Dorothea, it will never be him. Applause and cheers sound, Caspar and Balthus whooping the loudest. The assault on his ears shakes him from his melancholy.

Constance approaches him at the same time as the other Abyssians emerge from the crowd.

“Professor, please accept my apologies for that pitiable display of magic. House Nuvelle’s future appears so dim if this is the best I can do.”

“It was perfect, Constance. We’ll talk about it during tomorrow’s lessons, okay?” There was no point trying to say anything else while she was afflicted by the sunlight.

“Hey Chatterbox. Don’t worry, I’ll get her to the shadows in a minute. Did you get the coffee I left you?”

He nods. It had been on his bed when Petra brought the fish. Hapi laughs at his lack of response and elbows Balthus.

“I gotta present for you too pal. The exalted King of Grappling promises to keep his shirt on all day!”

“But not done up?” Byleth raises a damning eyebrow.

“Nah, that’ll cost ya,” Balthus says with a wink, earning an eye roll from Byleth and a shove from Hapi that turns into her dragging Balthus and Constance back towards Abyss.

Yuri grins much too dangerously from the shadows of an archway, not just because of Balthus’ words. “You’ll get your present this evening, friend. I know the time.” He smirks, following his peers. Thankfully, Seteth isn’t in earshot and no one is paying attention.

“Oh HEY! I got you a promise too, Professor!” Caspar is much too loud and much too close when Byleth turns around. “I promise to think before I act, and no fighting. From now, I mean. I tried to do it this morning but there was an incident between Hubert and Ferdinand that I had to break up.” Hubert scowls at him and Byleth groans internally. Maybe some rolling around on the floor would help the idiots realise they don’t actually want to fight.

“My ambitions are more realistic,” Linhardt offers with a yawn. “I’ll be awake for all of lunch.”

“Not good enough, Linhardt,” Edelgard scolds.

“Alert, then,” he amends, and Edelgard nods in concession. It was the best they could ask for.

“Hey, Hubert! That’s everyone else in the Eagles. What did you get the Professor for his birthday?” Caspar asks eagerly.

“He woke up this morning, didn’t he?” Hubert’s voice is its signature sinister drawl, but Byleth recognises that the threat isn’t entirely sincere. The others don’t.

Ferdinand sputters at Hubert’s words, indignation clear on his face, and Edelgard wheels round to challenge her childhood servant-come-friend.

“Hubert, you cannot possibly be insinuating - “

“Thanks Hubert, I appreciate you not assassinating me,” Byleth interrupted dryly.

“It’s more than you deserve after putting me on so many chores with  _ that _ incessant  _ fool _ ” Hubert spits, gesturing at Ferdinand who puffs out his chest in response. Byleth spots an opportunity to lift his low mood. It’s only a little vindictive, and one day they’ll thank him for it. And if it helps his father get out of arguing with Manuela over her age, that’s just a bonus.

“Hey Manuela! Hubert and Ferdinand just volunteered for stable duty for the rest of the month,” he shouts.

She stares at him, confused, argument forgotten.

“Professor!”

“I will NOT-”

“The next TWO months, actually,” Byleth amends. Manuela’s confusion is gone, replaced by a smirk. Hubert’s face is like thunder but it doesn’t worry him. If looks could kill, he would have died in Felix’s eyes a million times over.  _ And what a way to go that would be. _ Ferdinand looks aghast as Dorothea swoops in to take his arm and distract him with tales of the opera, shooting Byleth a gleeful smile behind his head.

Edelgard takes off in the direction of the dining hall, covering her smile with a hand so Hubert doesn’t see. Byleth laughs and follows her, falling into easy conversation with his students.

* * *

Lunch is mostly uneventful, even if he spends most of the time wishing he could follow Felix when he leaves the dining hall. The food is good, Caspar manages to stay out of an argument between Claude and Lorenz that devolves into a fight, and true to his word Linhardt keeps his eyes open and engages in conversation (although Byleth catches the lids drooping more than once). It feels like any other day, Byleth doesn’t feel like he’s on the spot, and actually manages to enjoy himself. He still excuses himself as soon as is polite though.

“My teacher, won’t you stay with us a little longer? Petra was to tell us about the spirits of Brigid.” Edelgard laces her fingers and rests her chin on the bridge it creates.

“Yes Professor! I would be liking that greatly.”

“I’m sorry Petra, another time I’d love to hear about it. Can we all do dinner on Wednesday?”

Everyone agrees, but Linhardt adds “as long as you don’t let Caspar help you cook it.”

“HEY!” Caspar shouts, pulling Linhardt into a headlock. So much for no fighting.

Byleth chuckles as he leaves, finally hopeful he might be able to steal away to the training grounds. Apparently he is a masochist and being around Felix Fraldarius is an exquisite form of torture he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to quit. Because nothing is ever that easy, Claude von Reigan is waiting for him in the courtyard, casually leaning against a column in preparation for his ambush.

“Hey Teach! Seeing as you abandoned the deer for lunch, it’s only fair you join us for dinner, right?”

Sylvain appears from thin air and throws an arm around his shoulders wearing that easy, disarming, fake grin on his face.

“No can do Claude, the Professor is promised to me tonight,” Sylvain said with a wink that would  _ definitely _ get him in trouble with Seteth, regardless of what he said earlier.

Byleth picks up Sylvain’s arm and drops it unceremoniously back down by his side. Claude’s own fake smile grows as his eyes drink in the action, enjoying it too much. “What he means is I already have plans. Guys night, fixed numbers, you know the drill.”

“Nah, you might need to give me a demonstration, Teach.”

“Riegan...” a little of the Ashen Demon slips into his voice, and Claude gets the message with a ridiculous pout.

“Claude, I have it on good authority you got breakfast, or an equivalent. Edelgard got lunch, it is only fair I get dinner, no?” Dimitri also appears from goddess-knows-where to back him up and Claude retreats with his arms held up in defeat.

“I can’t help but feel bad for him, Professor.”

“Me too. Hilda is going to give him  _ hell _ . Wish I could watch, to be honest.” A carnal hunger is clear in Sylvain’s eyes at the thought, his signature wolfish grin plastered over his face.

“Insatiable as always, Sylvain.” Ingrid’s tone is scathing but her scowl doesn’t have the same heat as Felix’s.

“Hey gorgeous. To what do I owe the honour?” Sylvain goes to sling his arm around her, but thinks twice when she sets her jaw.

“Hmph.  _ You _ don’t have any honour. Professor, may I have a word?”

Byleth nods, waiting for Ingrid to speak or to follow her until the others were out of earshot. She does neither, wrapping her arms around herself as she searches for words she’s finding difficult. She sighs heavily, her eyes trained to a spot on the floor. He remembers Felix’s eyes trained on Dorothea, and suddenly he isn’t so sure he wants to spar. Just mope and be miserable somewhere on his own.

“Another letter?” Dimitri breaks the silence. Ingrid offers him a grateful smile as she nods.

“Professor, you said you’d speak to my father on my behalf and I implored you not to.” Ingrid meets Byleth’s eyes now. He’s careful to keep the anger out of them.

“You also said I could have both, as did Seteth. That I can follow my dreams and help my family. Please can you convince him to give me the chance to walk my own path?”

Sylvain gifts them a rare, genuine smile. Dimitri grips her shoulder and Byleth produces a sealed and strongly worded letter from the folds of his coat. Spotting the whirlwind of energy that is Cyril sweeping towards the dining room - likely late to lunch after getting distracted by chores - he presents the boy with the letter to post. Cyril nods and dashes in to be fed before he has to sweep the floors.

“What - how long have you had that prepared?” Ingrid asks, frowning.

Byleth shrugs. “Long enough. I promise it’s tame enough compared to the first five drafts. I let Seteth edit the final one.”

“ _ First five drafts _ !? Professor! What does it say?”

“What is necessary. Nothing more, nothing less. Don’t worry, Ingrid.” Byleth starts walking off, intending to go to his room and scream silently into his pillow. She remains rooted to the spot in some mix of emotions he’s too tired to process.

“Six, don’t be late!” Sylvain calls after him. He waves a hand dismissively.

His traitorous feet lead him where he really wants to be instead.

* * *

Such exquisite torture. In the training grounds, Felix only has eyes for him. He can feel the heat of his gaze linger at a point to the left of his shoulder. Felix is tidying way training dummies in preparation to leave when Byleth walks into the empty training grounds. They didn't look too bad - Felix must have gone easy on them. Good. He'd still want to train then. Byleth removes his coat, folding it over the weapons rack as Felix avoids his eyes.

“Didn’t think you’d want to train with me on your day off.”

_ There’s nothing else I’d rather do than train with you. _ “It’s just to burn off some steam. I need some time alone, everyone is so demanding of me today.”

“Oh. I’ll leave.” An unreadable scowl crosses Felix’s face as he storms across the training grounds. Byleth contemplates letting him go so he can focus and actually burn off some steam. It’s a stupid idea. He calls out before he can leave the room.

“Felix, wait. I thought you enjoyed time alone too. I figured in sparring, we could be alone together.” It's a poor description of how he feels with a sword in his hand. The world falls away until all he can feel is the weight of his blade as an extension of his body.

He pauses, back to Byleth. “Sounds agreeable. If - if you have time.” He must be imagining the vulnerable note to Felix’s voice. He clearly knew this would happen. He hadn't even returned his training sword to the rack. Or he was too busy trying to get away from Byleth that he was going to walk out without it.

_ I always have time for you _ . “Of course. My only other obligation now is dinner in town with Sylvain and Dimitri.”

“Spending the evening with the boar? Ugh. I don’t envy you.”

“Are you here to talk or to fight, Felix?” Byleth asks, settling into a ready position.

Felix lets out a bark of laughter. “As you wish.” They fall silent, letting the thud of wooden swords speak for them.

* * *

It’s been at least an hour when they break for water. Byleth risks a glance over at Felix, who quickly jerks his head away when their eyes meet. Felix's cheeks are red after, but that's to be expected after the intensity of their sparring. It's a good workout, after all. The flush is definitely due to the exercise. Felix’s chest is heaving from exertion, breath coming in pants that flood his mind with images of other ways he could leave the young man breathless. Pressed into his back, brushing lips against his neck...breathing heavily himself in his ear...tugging at an earlobe with teeth...gripping his pectorals with one hand, the other forcing angular hips back to show him how much I  _ want _ him...Byleth’s mind wheels at the possibilities, trying to reconcile desire with his position, much too hot himself from more that just the workout.

Sylvain and I are the same age. No-one would care if — Byleth doesn’t complete the thought. He can’t stomach the image of the redhead’s large hands wrapped around the lithe figure before him that pops into his mind unbidden. Somehow, it’s worse than when Felix was looking at Dorothea earlier, even if he's sure Felix doesn't like guys and the touching and moaning imaginary Sylvain is drawing out of Felix would never happen. It's a cold comfort. The most important thing is no one would care. As Yuri said, it’s the same, right?

_ How fortunate Felix is to have met someone like you...I’m glad he has you to look after him. _

Byleth feels like an ice cold bucket of water has been thrown over him. Rodrigue’s words cool his rising heat better than any cold bath would and the now-familiar ache settles into his heart again. Most importantly, Felix is his student, nothing can happen. Secondarily, Felix doesn’t like men, so nothing would happen regardless. Byleth runs a hand through his hair to push it out of his face and definitely  _ not _ in frustration and wonders if the Abyssian will be up for another round after their night in town with Sylvain.

Felix's grating Faerghan drawl warms him a little even if the tone is cold. He still sounds a little breathy.

"Some people like to snack when they take a break. No willpower."

The words smart as if Felix had slapped him. He needed to have more willpower. But instead, he chooses to use Felix's words against him.

"Muscles withering already?"

"Hmph. If you can talk, you can fight. Again."

It’s too hard to just quit Felix Hugo Fraldarius though.  _ Just one more _ , he tells himself for the third time, adopting the ready stance.  _ Just one more and I’ll be able to leave. _ He wonders how many “one more”’s it will take. Their swords connect and he can see the hunger in Felix’s eyes. He never gets awe and the faraway look which means Felix is thinking about something, like Dorothea or Annette do, or fondness, like Sylvain or Ingrid, but he gets hunger, and he’ll take all that Felix will give him. Even if the hunger is only for Felix’s own personal betterment. Hunger to beat him. As long as it’s directed towards him, and Felix’s eyes are on him, Byleth doesn’t care. And the hunger is good. He can pour his own hunger into their spars too, and with Yuri warming his bed it’s enough. Another easy lie he can keep telling himself he believes. Is this what it’s like to be one of the lovesick fools that chase Sylvain around all day? At least Felix’s lack of outward emotions are kinder than the cruel twist of a sneer Gautier reserves for the girls he’s done with who keep trying their luck.

Felix has been practicing his footwork. He's able to dart in, nearly landing a killing blow to his neck, and spin back out of reach. It's impressive. So Byleth devotes his full attention to Felix in front of him rather than the one who haunts his mind and his wildest dreams. Felix demands his best, and he's too weak to deny him. It has nothing to do with the fact that he couldn't bear the look of disappointment if Felix won and suspected Byleth hadn't tried his hardest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: A mini emotional rollercoaster. Some happy feels, some Serious Angst Feels(TM), we find out how Dimitri got roped into a night on the town and the boys head out. Gatekeeper makes a cameo.  
> There will be content warnings for discussion of unhealthy coping mechanisms (alcohol and sex), and onscreen character death of an innocent (no graphic descriptions, just "I hit them with a sword and they died").
> 
> Thanks as always to Sayl and Vi, my wonderful betas, who pointed out that Miasma is like the weakest level dark spell, but I liked the alliteration. You continue to be the best <3
> 
> I thrive on any form of feedback so please feel free to leave kudos and tell me how much this sucks / doesn't / to ignore this completely.  
> ee


	3. Into the Lion's Den

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A mini emotional rollercoaster. We resolve the birthday spar. Some happy feels, some Serious Angst FeelsTM, Byleth and Sylvain have a heart to heart, we find out how Dimitri got roped into a night on the town and the boys head out. Gatekeeper makes a cameo.  
> Content warnings for discussion of unhealthy coping mechanisms (alcohol and sex), and onscreen character death of an innocent (no graphic descriptions, just "I hit them with a sword and they died").

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings for discussion of unhealthy coping mechanisms (alcohol and sex), and onscreen character death of an innocent (no graphic descriptions, just "I hit them with a sword and they died").
> 
> I always thought it was kind of weird that you only went out on urgent missions you need to attend straight away at the end of the month, so things don't quite happen like that here. Imagine they went out to retrieve the Lance of Ruin around halfway through the previous month. Flayn hasn't gone missing yet which is why everyone's so chill.

A feint into a kick to the chest catches him off guard. Sure, Felix likes to denounce chivalry and has shown interest in Byleth's more scrappy fighting style, but he was raised to fight like a knight. Byleth didn't know he had it in him. It's also a risky move - mess it up and an enemy can cut the femoral artery. Certain death would be imminent on the battlefield with no time to find a healer. Felix executes it perfectly, picking up on Byleth’s technique of never offering his inner thigh as a target. Firm pressure, but not enough to break a rib - Byleth could feel the extra power in his leg, but Felix was in control enough to hold back for a spar. More than he’d managed his first time. Flawless. Byleth falls backwards and barely remembers to curl arms around his head to protect it as he smashes into the floor. Safe from damage, he flops them by his sides and looks up at Felix. He tries to ignore the sickening feeling that twists in his gut. It does nothing to dampen the clear smile of pride and adoration that grows on his face, though.

He did it. He actually did it.

_ Just one more. It’s too soon. Just one more one more. _ As if only one more could ever be enough.

Felix Hugo Fraldarius beat him in a spar.

"Yield." Felix closes the gap between them and trains the sword on his throat. It is an unnecessary and decisive end to more than just the spar. The finality of it hangs in the air. _Just one more._ Byleth swallows painfully, losing himself for the last time in the hot amber eyes burning into his. He'd been dreading this day, the day when Felix could best him. When Felix wouldn't need him, wouldn't want to be around him anymore. When the looks he gets from Felix are no longer hungry but the same ones he reserves for Dimitri, a casual disdain for someone who was once important to him but is now not even worthy of his disappointment. He blinks back the wetness in his eyes. The sickening feeling tugged at his gut again. He felt nauseated. Then he stops losing himself and starts to see.

Fuck he was such a hypocrite. He owed Bernadetta an apology.  _ Don’t project your expectations of others onto them, focus on what they actually say (or do) and judge from there. _ He should listen to himself more often. Because when he actually looks, the hunger is still there. Only partially satiated, ready to roar into life again another time. It gleams behind something else he can’t quite put his finger on, there’s a hint of sadness mixed with something else, but not the disdain he was dreading. Felix wears a wicked smile that will resurface in his dreams whether he wants it to or not. Muscles relaxed but poised, always weary of an attack. He’s stunning in the late afternoon light.

Byleth is still speechless, breathing heavily. Slowly, he pushes up to rest on his elbows, grinning up at Felix. The stone floor’s chill seeps into his skin, so he starts to sit up and - ow. He hisses in pain, he’d fallen heavily on his lower back. Years as a mercenary meant Byleth knew his body and its limits. Nothing’s broken, he’ll be sore for a day or two. No reason to bother a healer. The evaluation takes him a second to complete as he tries to get a leg underneath him to stand but he jars his back and hisses in pain again. Definitely two days now. Possibly three if he keeps aggravating it.

“Tsk. Here.” Felix braces himself and offers a hand to help Byleth stand. He grips the outstretched forearm. Felix’s eyes narrow but he mimics the hold to heave him up, other hand coming behind his bicep to steady Byleth as he stands. Felix’s grip remains tight as Byleth tests his weight and balance. Feeling dizzy despite not hitting his head but satisfied he can stand without assistance, he pulls away from Felix’s hands, releasing the forearm hold. 

Fingertips graze in a featherlight touch as their hands fall to their sides. Byleth jerks away from it as if shocked with small training sparks of thunder and manages a pitiful three steps towards the exit before twinging his back.

He lets out a guttural growl from the pain. Felix starts towards him but he holds out a hand to keep him away. Byleth can still feel the ghost of Felix’s fingertips against his. The cold sensation of the boy’s hand remained whilst the rest of his skin burned hotter than the kitchen hearth on the longest day of the year. He can hear the rush of his pulse hammering a mile a minute. If Felix touched him again it might roar loud enough for others to hear. His chest felt tight and his breathing was coming in pants again. At least he could blame that on the pain.

“I’m  _ fine,  _ Fraldarius,” he manages through gritted teeth. He walks forward gingerly, clenching his jaw from the pain.

Felix stands with his arms crossed, his face stony and unreadable. “Then you’ll spar with me tomorrow.”

Not a chance. But thankfully Sylvain’s given him a decent excuse that doesn’t involve admitting he’s hurt to Felix.

“If tonight goes how Sylvain intends, I doubt I'll be in a fit state to do anything tomorrow except stagger to dinner," Byleth chuckles. It doesn't add to the pain.

"Why are you humouring him? You aren't interested in picking up women in a town tavern." Felix's tone is judgmental, eyes hard, eyebrows pulled together in a frown.

_ Technically _ true. But he's definitely picked up a guy or two from a tavern in the past, before discovering his old friend deep in the bowels of Garreg Mach monastery.

"Because I promised Sylvain I would."

Felix harrumphs but lets it be. "You'll spar with me Thursday then?"

Should be ample time to recover or find a decent excuse if he's still in pain. "Sure."

"I’ll prove to you that wasn't a fluke." Felix takes his leave, striding out of the room quicker than Byleth can manage in his current state.

The pain is worth it. Felix beat him. It’s the only gift he’s received today that means anything to him. 

_ And, _ Felix still wants to spar. He feels like his heart could burst.

_ I’m glad he has you to look after him. _

The words sober his affections into something more befitting teacher and student but nothing could dampen the good spirits he was in as he shuffles to his room. The willow tree bark in his room will alleviate the pain, a hot bath would help, and he was actually looking forward to a rare evening in town.

* * *

**_Verdant Rain Moon into Horsebow Moon_ **

Sylvain Jose Gautier was not okay. He had his peers, even his closest friends, fooled with easy smiles and casual deflections but he wasn’t charming enough to fool himself. So it was his behaviour that gave it away to Byleth.

He went from the usual twice weekly complaints from students on the same floor as Sylvain about some girl or another to complaints nightly - sometimes more than one. To assure Seteth everything was in hand, Byleth took to patrolling the dorms between 7 and midnight. Seteth expected him to “protect the propriety of the maidens” but Byleth saw the hurt in Sylvain’s eyes, how much he needed it, and instructed them to find somewhere else. Byleth understood. He was no stranger to fucking the pain away himself. As long as he wasn’t seen and other students could sleep, there wouldn’t be any problems. Sylvain’s predilection to solve his issues with alcohol and a warm body weren’t healthy, but the boy wouldn’t speak to him when he tried. Byleth gave him space, hoping a little time and Sylvain's brand of self medication would take the edge off the raw pain enough to get him to open up. 

Then he saw the same girl, every night, for a week. Of course he shooed them away as expected, but for Sylvain to be seeking comfort with the same person was concerning. It was a loud cry for help that no-one else could see, and he resolved to answer the call for aid. He’d tried being patient, letting him dull the pain until he was ready to speak but it wasn’t working. Sylvain would talk to him about his brother tomorrow.

The next day he put Sylvain on stable duty "to compensate for an ill student from another house." Although the hours clashed with the redhead's usual evening activities, he'd agreed with little protest. He was as much of an equestrian as Ferdinand, Lorenz, Ingrid or Marianne and adored spending time around the animals, although he'd never make the time to do it himself. He could even be punctual when horses were involved.

At precisely 6pm, Sylvain walked into the yard dressed in old clothes suitable for the messier tasks of stable duty. No-one else was there. He frowns slightly, annoyed now that he has to work when he had other plans and his companion couldn’t be bothered to turn up on time.

Byleth hears the footsteps from inside the tack room and calls out “In here, Sylvain.”

He appears in the doorway, ducking his head a little to avoid hitting it on the frame. Byleth had set up four buckets of water next to two stools. A bar of saddle soap, a larger cloth and various rags sat on the table in between. Drag marks in the stable dust on the floor showed how the saddle stands had found their way to the cleaning station that had been set up. A full set of tagged tack (so they’d know where to return it once they were finished) already rested on each stand. The room smelled of rich leather, horse and deception. “Don’t we need to feed, water and muck out the horses? Tack cleaning is left to the squires.”

“The Deer did that earlier,” Byleth says with a straight face as he dips a rag into a bucket of water. He holds it there, letting the water soak in, before wringing it out until the rag is barely damp. He begins to wipe down the saddle, ensuring it doesn’t get too wet and ruin the leather.

“You lied to me.”

“You said I was a spoilt brat because I never ‘paid for my crest’.” Byleth’s tone is deadpan. There’s no accusation in the words, just a statement.

He has the decency to look at least a little sheepish about his earlier statement, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck. Because the sheepish look came from Sylvain Jose Gautier, it’s impossible to know if it’s genuine. Byleth appreciates the gesture regardless.

Sylvain sits on the empty stool and starts cleaning his bridle. For an hour, the only sounds in the room are the soft swish of rags against leather, the gentle gulps of rags dipped into water and the streams fading to drips as they are wrung out. Footsteps as finished tack is returned to its rightful place and more is pulled down for cleaning. The silence between them is comfortable but not easy, laden with the necessity to talk.

Byleth is stubborn. Old habits die hard. He doesn’t want to be the first to give in, but maybe that’s what this being a professor thing is about. Putting your students’ needs before your own. Helping them be their best. Sylvain can be honest, can be heartfelt. Byleth just needed to wear his own on his sleeve first. He’d have to talk - actual words, and lots of them - first. Damn Sylvain.

He reaches internally for the emotions he has to drag to the surface to feel. Since teaching, they don't sink so far back down each time he releases them, although the oppressive ocean of unfeeling still pressures them down. He wishes it wasn’t so hard, but what else did people expect from the emotionless Ashen Demon?

“A few years ago - I don’t remember exactly when, so don’t ask - Jeralt and I were on a job. Some lower noble tasked us with settling one of their petty squabbles. A land dispute I think, fuck knows why it wasn’t brought in front of the leader of whichever country we were in, but times were tough and we needed the money. The pay was good too. So off we rode to convince this other noble to agree to the new border lines.”

Byleth wets a rag, rubs it against the saddle soap and starts working it into his third saddle of the evening. Sylvain’s eyes are still trained forwards, wiping saddle soap off another bridle until it’s clean, but he can tell he’s listening, at least.

“We’d been briefed on what to expect by the dastard who hired us but of course, he’d lied. The other noble he sent us against was woefully unprepared for skilled mercenaries to turn up on his door. We expected to fight people who at least knew how to hold a blade. The only weapon most of them knew how to hold was a hoe, and badly. It was a massacre. The other noble knew when he was beaten though, and surrendered quickly. The papers were signed within half a day of weapons being drawn. Spared a lot of lives that way, but not enough.”

Sylvain was watching him now, cleaning abandoned. There were few memories of things he’d done during his life as a mercenary that Byleth cared about, and this was one of them. He took a deep breath and sighed.

“I hated the irony of it. The noble who’s subjects we’d killed told us when he signed that he was happy to sell the land. It was a reasonable price, too.” Byleth laughed bitterly. “But the noble who paid us was too proud for that. He couldn’t be seen to buy the land, that would be weak, but he bought it all the same. Through coin paid to mercenaries instead of a neighbour, where it could have done good. Ended up paying us more than was asked for the land after Jeralt found out. Triple, actually. We knew he’d be up for it, he had to be - the reason the original pay was so good was because it was hush money. We were paid to take the land by force and keep quiet about the conditions of battle. No retribution from the church or the country leader that way.”

Sylvain frowns as his eyes dart from left to right, reading words that aren’t there, searching for which of the various things in his head he wants to say. In the end, he settles on “That’s why you always push us towards the enemy commander in battle.”

“The fewer innocents or pawns that have to die, the better. It’s not their fight. We take it to those in charge, those in a position to let us end it.”

Sylvain nods his understanding. “That noble...there are a few here who remind me of him.” He leaves the names Gloucester and von Aegir unsaid.

“You don’t give your classmates enough credit. They  _ can _ grow. I’ve seen it. And I doubt they’d use an innocent as a shield to save their life.” The boys appreciate that the purpose of nobility is ‘to protect the commonfolk’ or ‘to better the commonfolk’ rather than use them for their every whim. There’s hope for them, Byleth is sure.

Sylvain’s mouth hangs slightly open at the confession. Byleth knows from his face that he has to continue.

“What the noble who hired us had done...it didn’t sit right with me. I couldn’t leave it like that. The beauty of hush money? It means no-one knows what you’ve done. We took the pay and made camp a few hours’ travel on foot outside the noble’s territory. Once everyone was asleep, I stole away on Amaymon to confront him about it. Scare him a bit. I managed to get into his chambers unseen. He was still awake, pouring over whatever paperwork is necessary to run a territory. I stepped out of the shadows and into the moonlight to talk and the fool refused to listen. He drew his blade against me and discovered exactly why I was so unhappy with the fight. Before I could kill him though, a maid came in through a servant’s entrance. He grabbed her, dragged her bodily in front of him to use as a shield. It would’ve worked.”

Byleth let out a wry laugh that Sylvain recognises from his own repertoire. “It was too late though. I was already striking, I couldn’t do anything to save her. I could just ensure he got his, too. I threw more weight into the swing and killed them both.”

“The months that followed were...not kind to me. Hearing that the other noble inherited the dead one’s land, and that he found the extra pay I left in the chambers, was a small comfort. But I still fell into more unhealthy ones to cope. Habits similar to yours, actually. Short term they helped, but we both know long term they can’t.”

“I don’t know Professor. It’s worked for me this far,” Sylvain says as he stretches both arms behind his head, hoping the stretch will rid the lump that built in his throa t.

“I’ll believe that if you will.”

This wry laugh is Sylvain’s. “Prove it then, Professor. Come out on the prowl with me in town.”

“Will it help?” Byleth’s eyes pierce Sylvain, demanding an honest answer. He pauses before he nods, not trusting his voice won’t give him away.

“Then gladly. It’s my birthday on the 20th. We’ll do it then.” Another nod in response from Sylvain. A dangerous idea comes to Byleth’s mind.

“In exchange for a plus one...I’ll help you convince Dimitri to join us.”

Sylvain’s face lights up as he flashes a rare, genuine smile. “Guys night only, though.”

Byleth nods. “Finish these up, and you can leave,” he says before departing the room.

Sylvain returns to his dormitory alone that night.

* * *

At 5:40pm, Byleth shuffles out of his room towards the main gate where they are set to meet. It takes him until basically 6pm to get there, able to walk faster than earlier but still pretty sore. Gatekeeper tells him, reliably, that there is nothing to report.

“Oh, except that suspicious figure. She’s been standing there since 5:45pm and hasn’t moved since.”

A small bob of his head acknowledges the information. He drinks in the view of the slight figure, an appreciative smile on his face. A dark grey asymmetrical cloak drapes over one shoulder and half her back, miniver-trimmed hood up to conceal her face. The long sleeved linen undertunic of the same colour reaches the floor, low back skillfully cut out. Pale skin peeks out between criss crossed ribbons of blood red holding the open back of the pale purple overdress together. To top it off, a pale purple overdress of wool adorned with silken sashes in darker shades of purple, red and grey complete the outfit.

"Professor, you sly dog! But - I do agree, she’s a treat." An elbow to the ribs and a playful wink announce Sylvain and Dimitri's arrival.

"Hmm. You’re the resident 'expert', why don't you show the inexperienced prince how it's done?" A teasing smile creeps on Byleth’s face. Dimitri cringes in crimson as Sylvain eagerly trots over to the suspicious woman.

Byleth chuckles quietly and leans into Dimitri conspiratorially. “I hope that’s second hand embarrassment for Sylvain, Dimitri.  _ You _ have nothing to be embarrassed about.” The prince frowns, confused, some of the pink fading. Byleth smirks and nudges his head towards the figure.

As Sylvain nears her, he extends a hand to rest on her back. They take the signal and turn 180, looking over a shoulder as lavender bangs fall across their face. Their eyes burn with their own type of intensity, emphasised by amethyst eye shadow. Their smile has the ethereal quality of moonlight, captivating rather than blinding. “Yuri!” Sylvain exclaims as he starts back.

“Happy birthday, friend.” Byleth could forget anything, anyone - even if only for a few hours - when basking in the cool glow of that smile. “Sylvain, don't be too disappointed. Your pride will recover, and I have other people waiting for me,” Yuri winks. 

Byleth wraps an arm around Dimitri to pull him into a stagger forwards, bent over from laughter, until a hard step forwards shoots pain through his hip and up his spine. Noticing his grimace, Yuri takes pity on him.

“Byleth may have been joking before, but you should prepare the prince for our evening, tell him what to expect. Go ahead, we’ll catch up. You wait for him,” Yuri slaps a hand against Byleth’s chest “in this state, we won’t get there until closing. Don’t forget _the talk_ \- the birds and bees, eh?” Sylvain lets out a hearty laugh as he throws his own arm around Dimitri and regales him with (truly awful, from what Byleth can hear) tips for picking up women.

“You like your present?” Yuri drawls in his ear.

“I’d like it better on your floor.”

A few chuffs of laughter rumble in Yuri’s chest and they walk slowly in silence, waiting for Dimitri and Sylvain to pull away. Byleth fidgets impatiently. Yuri looks up, judging the distance. It’s safe. “They’re out of earshot now, friend. Tell me what you’ve been holding back.”

The words fall out of Byleth’s mouth like they did when he first confessed. “He beat me. In a spar. He beat me Yuri, he did it!” Byleth beams, face flush, eyes energised, gripping at the small lapels of Yuri’s overdress from giddiness. “He beat me. And he still wants to spar.”

Yuri inclines his head. More secrets spilled in bed meant he was privy to Byleth’s concerns the boy would discard him following the fateful won spar.

“He executed the chest kick perfectly.”

“Hmmm. How many ribs did he break?”

Byleth winces at the memory. “I really am sorry about that, my friend. You healed quickly enough.”

Yuri raises a perfect eyebrow but flashes him a half smile. “So he showed more restraint than you?”

“I didn’t escape free from injury.”

“I can see. You’re walking slower than the creepy librarian.”

Byleth shakes his head, face completely smitten. “We even...” he trails off.

“Friend?” Yuri’s face holds a carefully concealed excitement. Did they finally...?

“When he helped me up, our fingers brushed.” Yuri rolls his eyes and groans before laughing at Byleth. He can be as bad as Ferdinand sometimes.

“I am happy for you, friend. Truly.” They share a smile. “But you need to slow down.” Byleth frowns.

“If you and Felix are brushing hands, you'll need protection.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Felix was totally trying to hold Byleth's hand, he's just clueless.  
> Thanks as always to my Betas and continual inspiration Vi and Sayl. Y'all are a GIFT idek what to say.  
> I had some life stuff happen so I'm really sorry but the final chapter of this will come out when it comes out. It's planned, I just have to write it, and I'm not sure how much time I'll have to do it. I'm hoping no longer than 2 weeks but we'll see.
> 
> Next time: Dimitri's tavern manners are too good, Yuri and Sylvain make Byleth miserable, you'd be surprised what you can hear down in Abyss and there's one final present for everyone's favourite teacher. Flayn goes missing at the end of the fic to bring us back to canon compliant.
> 
> I can maybe be convinced to do a post time skip follow up if people like it, so let me know! (By maybe I mean I already wrote a snippet for it this morning so yeah. Won't take much convincing)  
> n


	4. Denizens of the Deep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys enjoy their night out in the tavern, with Sylvain and Yuri conspiring against Byleth. Back at the monastery, there's a disappointment and one final present for everyone's favourite teacher.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for drinking alcohol and canon-typical homophobia. The alcohol is scattered throughout the whole chapter, but you can skip the other bit by jumping from "The longer it goes on, the more bitter he gets" to "Enough, Sylvain." There's a TL:DR for the skipped content in the end notes.

“Try to smile, Dimitri. You are the crown prince.” He winces at the words, clearly Byleth ruined his attempts to just be Dimitri for the night. A few drinks earlier, he might have felt worse about it.

“Please forgive my frown Professor, it is not an indication of my mood. I am concentrating. I feel I have seen more women this evening than in the rest of my years combined. How do you remember all their names?” Dimitri’s rosy cheeks betray his fluster and his mild inebriation.

Yuri sighs. “Didn’t Sylvain explain before we got here?”

“Yes. He said he’d introduce me to someone and I should remember their name and an interesting fact about them.”

Byleth felt Dimitri’s frustrations. He knew better than to try and remember anything about the parade of women Sylvain had charmed over to their table. He feigned vague interest for as short a time as was polite, then excused himself - to get more drinks, to help Yuri carry drinks, to relieve himself, any believable reason. Each potential conquest was gone when he returned, noting his apathy towards them. Unfortunately, Dimitri was well versed in official courting etiquette and applying it in a tavern. No wonder he was struggling.

At least he hadn't invited any of the women to join him in an Adrestian Waltz or Faerghan Pavane.

“Dimitri, ask him to name all the girls he’s had in his lap this evening. He won’t remember.”

“Even so, Professor. Like you said, as the future king I must ensure I leave a good impression. The people here could go on to be my subjects.”

Because the people need another stuffy noble with no idea about the real world.

“You're not here to find a wife. You're not necessarily here to find anything. Dimitri, I know I mentioned your station, but it was a joke. Goddess, tonight is a chance for us all just to be ourselves. So lose the Professor, lose the...that,” Byleth gestures at the boy, “and loosen up. But Sylvain is getting a bit much. I’ll talk to him if it continues.”

He nods, relieved. Byleth raises his flagon of ale, tilts it towards him and takes a large gulp. He wasn’t sure how many more women he could take tonight. Especially as the empty tankards grew on the table. Byletth often got less patient with the world when alcohol clouded his mind.

“Sylvain, is there anyone left in the town that you haven’t tried it on with?” Byleth sighed as he brought two more women over, arms round their shoulders. He hadn’t meant to say it out loud. Oops. They heard, too, and left without excusing themselves, so he knew he fucked up.

The perfect mask slips and a little anger shows beneath the charming signature Gautier 'smile'. Byleth always thought it looked more like a forced grimace. It was a more accurate representation of Sylvain's emotions about all this anyway. Raw nerve, poor choice of words, but the ale was really starting to take effect. Maybe he should skip a round.  _ Should I have to? It is my birthday, after all. _

He ponders what he’s trying to achieve here and resolves to skip two rounds, birthday be damned.

“My bad, I’m sorry. But you messed with Dimitri.”

His apology is accepted with a sharp nod and a confused frown. "I didn’t!" Sylvain protests.

“So prove it,” Yuri backs Byleth up. “The women you’ve brought to the table tonight - tell us their names and something about them.”

Sylvain looks sympathetically at Dimitri. “You took that seriously!?”

“I was not supposed to?”

“Oh, Dima. Fine, it doesn’t matter, I can do it anyway.” He shakes his head, pointing to the women as he lists off their names and information about them. The longer it goes on, the more bitter he gets.

“Oda is the blacksmith’s daughter. She’s better than her brother at smithing but he’ll inherit the business. She’s engaged to the cooper’s son. I think they’re still engaged. I’m still standing, so they probably are. Felix would murder me himself if I pissed off the smith.

Astrid works in the tavern to feed her three brothers, who want to be squires because the rules say they can’t be knights. Lucky for our Ashe he was adopted by a Lord, eh?

Casse can play the guitar and sing. Helps her get work as a governess.

Geroa is a herbal healer. I reckon her knowledge of poisons would rival Hubert’s, though.

Perse and Diota are both second daughters. Their fathers are looking for suitable matches that will keep them far apart, for decorum’s sake. Can’t have the family name sullied by their ‘perversions.’

Celia is the best hunter they have in this town, but none of the merchants will buy her meat and pelts because she’s female, so she sells her body for a roof over her head.

Bea and Mille would cut the crest out of you if they could. Honnor, Richil and Fara claim to be on the preventative herbs but won’t take them, so you have to be careful. Tonna talks to her friends about sleeping with as many rich nobles as she can until she gets with child, then running to the richest to care for them - real father be damned. Anything to leave the gutter behind.”  


“ **Enough,** Sylvain.” Byleth lets the commanding voice of the Ashen Demon slip out when a clearly distressed Dimitri leaves the table, followed closely by Yuri on damage control. His tone shakes Sylvain out of his dark reverie. Auburn locks fall into his eyes when he shakes his head, smiling grimly, to absolve the women of blame. “Pardon my Dagdan, but the system’s fucked.”

Byleth agrees, but changes the subject, and soon Yuri and Dimitri come back - with water this time. Sylvain looks unimpressed but is assured they will all be glad of it come morning and reluctantly agrees.

True to his word, Byleth skips the next round too. Water and time passed eases the fuzz of his head enough that when a group of well dressed women - likely merchant’s daughters, by the look of their garb - enter the tavern, he feels calm enough to endure speaking to them.

“Recognise them?” He elbows Sylvain to ask. Hazel eyes shoot up and he shakes his head, so Byleth takes the opportunity to atone for his earlier misstep. At least fresh skirts for Sylvain to chase come without baggage. Maybe they come with a chance to address his fucked up relationship with women, but he doubts it. He learns the name and a fact about the meekest woman to formally introduce her to his blonde haired student, giving her a false name in lieu of one that carried the burden of a dynasty. Let him escape his heritage for a time, at least.

The atmosphere at the table becomes tolerable. More than. The woman who sat between him and Yuri was the daughter of a weapons trader with a rapier sharp wit. She shows no interest in either of them and therefore the conversation flowed. He found the faintest outline of a smile curving at the corner of his mouth. When they discuss the merits of a ricasso on a blade, he’s engaged. He even leans in, eyes glinting, until her weariness from a long day catches up and she excuses herself to her rooms. Sylvain seems upset on his behalf that Byleth did not get an invite, and leaps up to the bar to find another woman for him. Byleth groans, making a face at Yuri, who laughs at him.

“No need, friend. It’s your birthday, I can fix this.”

Byleth is suspicious as he walks over to Sylvain and whispers in the redhead’s ear. Both occasionally glance over at him. Sylvain’s brow furrows. He nods his understanding. Yuri sneaks a wink at Byleth and he feels the colour drain out of his face. He no longer trusts that the trickster had his best interests at heart.

His suspicions are confirmed when Sylvain brings an olive skinned man with a strong jawline, brown hair and cocoa eyes to the table.

_ Dastard. _

The man was attractive, though.

* * *

He was also exceptionally dull. Byleth told him as much. Bluntly.

The next man Sylvain offered was a stablehand with a similar build to Ferdinand. The hair colour was wrong, but Byleth was not going to risk the hazard to his health. Hubert really might assassinate or poison him if it wasn’t his birthday. He politely refuses the man’s company outright and watches as Sylvain puts the pieces of the puzzle together.

“Ahaha, you might be right about that. I imagine he’d concoct a rather painful poison to overcompensate for the denial.”

Mousey brown hair, purple eyes, trim figure and a winning smile adorn the face of the book merchant. At least with his love of devouring the stories he sells, he has an interest in knights and asks Byleth relevant questions he doesn’t mind answering. When the topic of conversation turns to Byleth himself though, he shuts it down, and the man has little interest in the tactics of battle or intricacies of different weaponry, just the romanticised ideation of what it must be to belong to so noble, so worthy a cause. Bile rises in Byleth’s throat and he dismisses the seller goodnight.

Mercedes’ baked treats are better than the burgundy haired bakers, but his wares are nice enough. So are his arms, burly from lifting bags of flour, separated by broad shoulders and a muscular chest. More built than his usual type, but he entertains it for 10 minutes until the man brushes his arm affectionately and he recoils from the touch. He’s never appreciated much physical contact although he was better with it generally as a result of his students. Romantically...to the frustration of former partners, he normally tried to touch as little as possible. That had changed some with Yuri, but not enough for him to enjoy the touch of this stranger, who was leaning into his side now. Byleth stiffened and he got the hint, leaving. Byleth let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and thought about how much easier things could have been if he was just a student like Sylvain, if he wasn’t in a position of responsibility over the students.

He’ll end up with a reputation at this rate. He gets through all four offered men in barely over an hour. Sylvain stands, intending to discover Byleth’s ‘type’, as he put it, through further trial and error. He tugs on Yuri’s sleeve but the man is too busy staring at the Almyran beauty leaning casually on the bar. She pushes up from it and stalks over, an air of danger surrounding her. Reminiscent of a snake, the woman sways as she moves, coiled muscles ready to strike. At the table she cocks her head at her meal, lips splitting to flash fang-like canines. Her face is young, similar to theirs, yet her eyes betray an age older than her years.

“I’ve seen you looking, yet you have not made a move. There is a touch of fate here, I know you feel it. Are you not interested?”

“You and I cannot deny we have a connection. But a little bird already flew off with my heart.”

She chuckles, a sound like the welcoming roar of rain beating against arid plains. Her inherent magnetism pulls them all in, including Dimitri who was still talking to the merchant’s daughter, all except Byleth. He regards her coolly. “Liquor loosen your tongue, Mockingbird?” she purrs.

He looks over at Byleth, blushing at the way his other name sounds falling from this divine being, embarrassed to have spilled one of his own secrets so readily to this stranger. Her eyes follow his, and Byleth finds his deep blue eyes staring into hers. His brows pull together slightly and they stare, as if having a silent conversation. After five seconds that last an eternity, she breaks contact.

“Be swift as the  **sparrow** .” She inclines her head at Yuri, holds Byleth’s eyes one last time, and slips out of the inn.

Yuri snaps out of his daze, searching the room. He leans over to whisper in Sylvain’s ear. The student grins and leaves the table. He returns with drinks and a man of around his age, hair black as night, slight figure with toned muscles. Dagger expertly concealed in his boots. Closed body language, arms folded across his chest. The eyes are wrong though, as piercing blue eyes stare harshly back at him. Byleth wonders if Sylvain agrees the man’s eyes resemble Rodrigue’s.

He resolves to kill Yuri for encouraging Sylvain. He finds himself pushing him up against the wall in the alley outside the tavern to kiss him greedily instead.

* * *

They successfully disentangle themselves before Sylvain and Dimitri stumble out of the tavern at closing. Their absence isn’t commented on, and the four of them fall into step as they follow the road back to the monastery.

Chat comes easily to the group, laughing about everything and nothing. Movement is helping Byleth's back but they keep a slower pace. Eventually, he falls slightly behind, and Sylvain drops back to meet him.

"Thanks for tonight, Professor - Byleth," he amends when shot a sharp look.

“It was...not unpleasant.”

The taller man laughs. “Are you sure? I honestly thought you were going to stab me with one of your hidden daggers at one point.”

Byleth chuckles. “You were a bit...insistent...about our table fellows.”

“I suppose I was. I...I needed it to not just be me.”

He understands. This was Sylvain’s way of sharing his pain. He’d clearly made progress, too. “You left alone tonight, though,” Byeth encouraged.

“Unhealthy comforts can’t help forever, right? Figured I’d try reaching out instead of eating out.”

He nods. Silence descends between the two of them as they enjoy the cool air. Yuri and Dimitri are talking animatedly. Occasional snippets of their conversation carry on the wind - something about Rowe? Christophe? Yuri sounds put out when Dimitri seems indifferent about food in general, resulting in Yuri making a show of describing all the finer things in life, the things Yuri had done whatever it took to obtain, that Dimitri was being so dismissive of. He waves his arms, tugging at the prince, until the blonde noble loses his footing. Yuri’s nearly crushed trying to keep him upright and Byleth runs forwards to help. They both settle Dimitri’s arms around their necks but stagger forwards under his weight until he regains his footing. It’s unsteady though, so they continue to support him as the monastery comes into view.

“Felix should have been with us.” Dimitri’s commanding tone leaves no room for disagreement.

“Felix would have hated it, Dima,” is what Sylvain says loud enough for everyone to hear. “But he was missed,” is what he breathes, only audible to Yuri’s ears so practised at eavesdropping, a truly wistful, adoring look on his face. Yuri shifts Dimitri’s body so Byleth can’t see past the greasy yellow fringe as they approach the gate.

* * *

Yuri’s room is ill-lit. A single candle in a faraway corner hidden behind frosted glass casts more shadows than the faint glow it provides. It’s how they both prefer it. In the dark of the Abyssal depths, where not even they can properly see, the two can allow their real selves to show.

He loosens the fist in Yuri’s hair to run a hand down his neck. His fingertips dance over the ribbon holding the dress in place, pulling them loose, teasing bare skin until they come to rest in the dip of the man’s lower back. Neither of them speak as they commence their dance.

The dress does look better on the floor. He traces the outline of Yuri’s shoulder blade as the man grips his sheets tightly. A loud moan escapes him. Byleth frowns - they agreed discretion was necessary. He leans forward, pressing his chest into Yuri’s back as he covers Yuri’s mouth with his hand. Another clamorous moan, but it doesn't vibrate through his chest or into his hand. Yuri’s are quiet, the pitch is wrong, right now he's only panting heavily beneath him. Byleth removes his hand and ignores it. Who is he to judge the citizens of Yuri’s domain?

_ “Sylv-uh, uh, uh, Syl-VAIN.” _

Byleth lets out an animalistic snarl. Anger and disappointment set his jaw. Yuri recognises the Demon and knows better than to whimper at the loss. Both dress quickly, neither satisfied with their encounter. He has to jog to keep up with Byleth’s purposeful strides towards the stairs that will return him to the surface. Constance looks indignant in the corridor, with an annoyed Balthus emerging from the Inn. She opens her mouth to complain about the surface dweller’s antics but is silenced by the look in Byleth’s eyes. 

“I meant what I said, Yuri-bird. Coffee’s too expensive. I need sleep enough to do something about it,” Hapi calls from somewhere behind them as Byleth takes the stairs two at a time.

“How often?” Byleth growls through gritted teeth.

“Not enough for me to bring it to your attention.” Yuri regards his friend, contemplating if he should get another member of staff as they stalk towards Sylvain’s room. The Ashen Demon is barely contained. Responsibility for taming Byleth's darker nature if it slips out should to fall to faculty, not him, although he probably stands a better chance.

Byleth mulls over Hapi’s words. “What does Hapi intend to do about it?”

Yuri grimaces. “She said something about the fear of beasts being the only thing that could shut him and a partner up. This was before Conand tower,” he adds quickly.

The responding nod could cut diamond. But Byleth's eyes weren't quite as harsh, more of his friend was present, and the tiniest hint of a smile pulled at the corner of his lips. “She might be right.”

Yuri falls behind on the second flight of stairs to avoid suspicion as Byleth’s swift feet carry him silently to Sylvain’s door.

His knock isn’t so silent. Sylvain and goddess-knows-who inside must be ignoring it, as Byleth hears the quiet creaking of opening doors. He can see heads poking through cracks, keen to watch Sylvain’s dressing down after he’s disturbed so much of their sleep. He can feel Hilda’s glee from here.

He brings the side of his fist up to the door for a single, powerful knock and the moans subside. He can hear shuffling within the room, then footsteps padding forwards. Sylvain opens the door, leaning casually against it. The woman in his bed looks affronted, a sheet pulled up to cover herself but she’s made no effort to dress.

His mind is still hazy at the edges from ale and arousal and emotions and the call of sleep. But he can see the look in Sylvain’s face. It’s a challenge. He’s playing up to the role he cast himself in, unable to break the vicious cycle of self loathing so he has to get others to do the loathing for him. And that’s why he can’t quite find it in himself to be harsh.

“Dress and leave.” He addresses the woman. She makes a resentful noise and tries to stare Byleth down, but he ignores her. Looking to Sylvain, he dons a careful neutrality on his face, lips pulled into a straight line. They’ll talk in the morning. He’s made progress.

Then he hears the disgruntled huff.

The tone begs him not to look for his own sanity, but his eyes, his body, betrays. He looks.

Felix stands almost sheepishly half out of his doorway. Arms crossed defensively in front of himself, a casual disdain on his face.

But his eyes burn.

They burn, so clearly, for the russet haired moron in front of him.

Felix can’t contain the emotions. Anger, disappointment, hurt.

Byleth’s face falls. It’s an imperceivable change to those who aren’t practised at reading him, so none of the students notice.

Why is jealousy the one fucking emotion Felix can't hide?

Byleth feels sick. But instead of acid rising to the back of his throat, he feels the demon clamour up. He gives in.

“ **Out.** ”

This time, the woman hears the threat. This time, she dresses and leaves, as he appraises Sylvain. When he tries to drop the Demon’s eyes, it doesn’t let him. The words are coming together, forming, paused only to find their most deadly form.

The first lesson he had been taught as a mercenary - aim for the heart. If you can’t, make damn sure the blow is a killing one anyway.

**_“You’re a failure. Fucking your way to an early grave. Or do you hope someone will take pity on you and put you out of your misery?_ **

**_You lost that chance when you killed your kin.”_ **

The hazel eyes before him widen, and tighten. Surprise, hurt, and resignation flash.

Byleth’s being despicable. But he can’t stop. He’s not in charge anymore.

Felix likes men.

Or at least, one man.

Felix likes Sylvain.

_ And he doesn’t like me. _

He’d be drowning if he wasn’t too busy killing. The second lesson? Twist the knife. It hurts like hell, and the damage is much harder to heal.

**_“You aren’t worthy of death. All you’re good for is breeding, like a good little stud horse. Pass on your genes, continue the crest of Gautier and butcher the Srengi for nothing more than being born on the other side of the border._ **

**_With the weapon that corrupted your brother._ **

**_With the weapon that will corrupt you.”_ **

A hand grips too hard on his shoulder. The calming scent of lavender fills his nostrils. The noise that leaves Byleth’s throat is not entirely human, but it is Byleth’s throat it leaves, not the Ashen Demon’s. 

Sylvain’s eyes are wet. The demon still stirs within, aching to shred the redhead to pieces, but he remembers the final lesson he was taught.

Fell the foul, but ignore the undeserving. Choose your battles. Never lose, but win the right ones.

Byleth was losing this one. He had to find a way to win it.

He sighs deeply. “Go to sleep, Sylvain.” Then, too quietly for anyone else to hear, “You are loved. You are cherished - wanted, even - for you. If only you’d let yourself see. Things will seem better in the morrow”

As painful as it is, he holds Sylvain’s eyes for all the whispered words.

They’ll talk properly in the morning. He can apologise, and explain, and Sylvain will know how wrong he was when he said Byleth never suffered for his crest.

For tonight, this scant reassurance is all he can do. Luckily, auburn bangs fall across pale Faerghan features as Sylvain dips his head and retreats into his room, closing the door behind him.

He has to face everyone else. It’s a hard task, but it must be done.

He doesn’t deserve his friend, his anchor, the mooring point that drags him back to reality when he drifts off in the current of the past and the demon and the unknown. The hard fingers still dig into his clavicle, rooting him in the present.

When Byleth turns to face down the corridor, the only person still specating is Felix. His eyes are soft, dazed almost, staring through the walls into Sylvain’s inner sanctum.

It hurts more than he can bear, but Byleth mutters a “Night, Fraldarius” as he walks past on his descent back to his room.

With his head hung, he misses Felix’s eyes train on his form as he stumbles blindly through his emotions, and the dormitory corridor, to find his room on the floor below. Alone.

The darkness of his own sanctuary is freeing and stifling as he is left alone. It is welcoming, but the moon paints the world in a pale relief. It could be considered pretty, divine, a sign, by those simpler than him. Byleth was not a superstitious type.

The light from the moon was enough for him to be able to see clearly in that dim room. None of the information was actually useful to the mercenary and he longed to let sleep claim him.

On the bed, however, was a wax-sealed letter and a wrapped parcel.

He tore the letter open first. There are blots on the paper in places, the only indication of salty tracks running down Felix's face as he wrote:

_ I beat you once. I wish to prove I can do it again. _

_ You are everything he should have been able to be, were he not cut down. _

_ The dead have no use for material things, and I have no use for the spectres of the dead. _

_ I cannot have the legacy of these hang over me like a noose anymore _

_ But  _

_ I can ensure they find a deserving home. _

_ There is none more worthy than you. _

_ FHF _

Byleth feels oddly...empty, he supposes, after reading the letter. He eyes the package suspiciously, afraid it will burn him, or chain him forevermore to the beautiful sword boy he can never have. Then he takes a deep breath, and he’s no longer afraid.

The heaviness in his chest abates, and he gingerly undoes the packaging.

Nestled inside it are a pair of black leather vambraces. The woollen lining is dyed  _ that _ shade of teal, warm and comfortable, with the crest of Fraldarius and a small but clear initialled “G” visible where they would defend his forearms from attack. From the size, it’s clear they would fit him perfectly.

Wetness fell onto his chest. Byleth was unaware of when he’d opened the floodgates, but he couldn’t hold them back now.

He was  _ worthy _ to represent the name Fraldarius.

The armour would be too small to fit Sylvain.

_ There is none more worthy than you. _

The emotions were too much for him to deal with.

Did Felix like him after all?

The guilt smashed back into his chest like a measured horse’s kick.

Rather than try to work it out, Byleth pressed his face into the soft pillows and let sleep take him.

* * *

Hurried, harsh raps on his door rouses Byleth. Mercifully, his head is free from fog and pain. He hadn’t bothered to undress the night before, still addled by ale and emotionally exhausted. Glenn’s vambraces and letter were still on his desk where he left them as he opened the door.

A desperate Seteth stands before him. He appears dishevelled, official robes incorrectly fastened. The man’s eyes are red and wild.

“Have you seen Flayn?” His voice is gravelly, strained. It cracks as he asks.

Byleth shakes his head once and reaches for the Sword of the Creator before joining the man to search for his missing sister.

They pair up to look. He ensures Sylvain is his partner so they can repair the damage from the Demon and the Philanderer. Searching the northwest corner of the grounds offers them solitude and a chance to talk. After Byleth shares the curse of the Demon, Sylvain offers a keen insight into his own personality. He's destined to always be a disappointment. To fill a role in a life mapped out for him to perpetuate a system he hates, doing the bare minimum, so he needs to enjoy what he can whilst he can. Byleth thinks of Hapi's words, and of a possible solution to Sylvain's apathy towards his life.

"Find someone you can't afford to disappoint."

The last words he remembers saying to Sylvain were shared with a knowing smile and a spark of hope in hazel irises. There's also a twist in Byleth's gut as he refuses to think of the obvious person the serial flirt would choose for the role of his saviour.

Flayn is found in a secret room beneath Jeritza’s chambers a week or so later. Her discovery sets into motion a chain of events that keep Byleth too busy to explore what happened on his birthday and triggers Dimitri’s descent into madness, showing everyone the wild boar Felix had always claimed he was.

The chain of events ends with him on a battlefield outside Garreg Mach, the ground falling out from beneath him, stretching his arm clad in his Fraldarius armour out for Felix even though he is much too far away to help, with no hope of making it to him in time. Byleth burns the image of those hot whiskey eyes into his mind, focusing on the intensity rather than the hurt, as his own flutter shut and he falls down, down, down into the canyon.

  
  
  
  
  


They don’t open for another five years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sylvain lists all the girls' names and facts about them, some about their lives but some include a very bitter comment on the sexism, homophobia and classism in canon.
> 
> Thanks as always to my betas Vi and Sayl, and an honourable mention also to Ren - all of whom helped loads with this chapter when I just couldn't bring myself to write or word things properly or create rando men for Byleth to get frustrated at or to work out where the chapter was going.
> 
> I did not mean to have an angsty ending but it’s easier to put “Byleth goes missing” here than brush over it or do it at the start of the next works, sorry team. It's not angst if it's canon-compliant, right?
> 
> The follow up is going to be a while away. I have some other brainworms I need to get out because they have been living rent free in my head for too long now, but rest assured this is on the WIP pile. Along with a spin off where Byleth decides to reach out to Hubert about assassinating the bad Three Houses dads because I need Byleth, Jeritza, Hubert and Bernie giving off Four Horsemen vibes.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed it!

**Author's Note:**

> Next time: FE dads suck, Seteth catches up with Byleth, lunch with the Eagles goes as well as you'd expect and Byleth tries to find time for that spar with the handsome Fraldarius. Or maybe he doesn't. Angst is served to the side.
> 
> Thanks as always to Sayl and Vi, my wonderful betas, who helped me with questions such as "what's the academy era version of 'calling shotgun'?" and "who would be the top in this pair?" when writing this fic. You continue to be the best <3
> 
> For non-horsey people, a hand is the unit of measurement up to the top of the horses withers (the pointy bit at the base of their necks). Amy is about 172cm to this point. If you aren't familiar with Friesians, I strongly recommend you google them. Fun fact - they were, in fact, war horses.
> 
> I thrive on any form of feedback so please feel free to tell me how much this sucks / doesn't / to ignore this completely.  
> Gr


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